


Lace and Louboutins

by someassemblingrequired



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Community: dragonage_kink, F/M, Kink Meme, Pregnant Sex, boss/secretary sex, i love these bastards, slight pregnancy kink, what can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 06:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12315306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someassemblingrequired/pseuds/someassemblingrequired
Summary: Written for the kinkmeme prompt,"Cullen/f!Quiz, modern, boss/secretary, pregnancy desk sex. Would be fun to play up a bit of a role play element. Mostly just want Cullen to ravish his lovely baby mama in his office in a modern setting+playing up the public sex/almost getting caught bit+dirty talk, especially about how he's knocked her up, how pretty she looks carrying his baby etc+she's pretty heavily pregnant--7 or eight months, nice big baby belly.+her high heel shoes stay on"Well, it would've been rude not to.





	Lace and Louboutins

**Author's Note:**

> i havent written in so long oh god, and i have NEVER written a pregnancy kink in my life. or a pregnant character. ever.

There’s sweat beading on her forehead as she leans against his desk. He’s crowding her—though, she thinks ruefully, that is more due to the swell of her belly than because he is in her space— and she smiles at him, waggling the folder that had been her weak excuse for interrupting his work.

“The reports, Mr. Rutherford. You wanted them as soon as Jim brought them down from Lelia— ah, Ms. Vasseur.” 

His eyes narrow at the mention of Jim, but he takes the reports just the same, tossing them onto the desk she is leaning against.

Her shirt is unbuttoned ever so slightly, giving him a tantalizing view of her smooth expanse of skin, of the light dusting of freckles that he knows cover every last inch of her, and _sweet Andraste_ , he just _knows_ she’s done that on purpose, just to mess with his head before the meeting with the Board in an hour. She’s a minx, she’s a desire demon in human form, he’s certain of it, and standing there, with her shirt strained at her swell, he’s not entirely certain he can resist.

“Lock the door,” he mutters, all heated looks and rough swallows. He neglects to tell her to pull the shades on the large, full wall window that gives him a view of her desk outside, and the office proper beyond it. Heat curls deep inside him as he wonders how many of his men and women have gone for lunch recently, how many will be returning soon, and just how well that soundproofing charm Dorian cast last week will hold.

She moves more swiftly than a woman who is nearly full term with a babe— _his_ babe— should be able to, but he’s always known she was one of a kind. And when the lock clicks, he’s on her in a moment, buttons clattering to the floor as he pulls at her shirt, ripping it off of her like a man possessed.

Evelyn looks momentarily like she is about to protest— she’s had such trouble finding shirts recently, her stomach inflating as though she had swallowed a balloon— but he silences her with a soft kiss, a shockingly pleasant parallel to his rough treatment of the Dales silk that now falls limply to the ground. “I’ll buy you another,” he hisses, calloused hands ( _how_ does he still have calloused hands, she has oft wondered, when he has been working in this office since his unofficial retirement so many years ago) moving to her breast band. 

Her skin is hot, hot, _hot_ , beneath his fingers, and she lets out a quiet moan as he works the band away from her heavy chest. She’d been complaining only the night before that her breasts were sore, overly heavy, swollen and almost uncomfortable, and he takes advantage of that sensitivity, gently pressing kisses to the flushed skin, tweaking her nipples ever so slightly.

She throws her head back and nearly falls, another groan slipping between her lips, and he crowds her again, tugging her towards the desk she had been leaning against only moments before. With a careless smirk, he sweeps everything off of the surface, sending papers flying, as he effortlessly heaves her up onto the desk.

(She loves it when he does that, when he shows her that, despite her engorged bump, he can still lift her as easily as he did when they first met.)

His lips create a road of red across her throat, nose nuzzling into the fine fiery hairs at the base of her neck before he strikes, teeth sinking into the soft flesh just above her collar bone. She keens, back arching as much as her swollen front will allow, breasts pressed upwards.

And _Maker_ , there has never been a more gorgeous sight, and he tells her so as his fingers go for her skirt. The material is silky beneath his hands, pulls down easily, and his breath catches in his throat as he sees the garter belt she had donned this morning, the thigh-high stockings she intimated were so much easier to wear instead of a single pair of hose, now that her pregnancy had reached its 8th month. He had helped her clip them this morning, but in his half-sleeping state, he hadn’t taken the time to recognize just how beautiful they looked on her.

He scoots her back on the desk. “Put your feet on the desk,” he murmurs, watching as she lifts herself slightly, settling the heels on the lacquered wood with a soft clack. He is mesmerized by her, all long lines and strong muscles, except at her middle.

“Do you know,” he mutters, running a single finger across her belly, feeling the heat of it. “How gorgeous you look like this, swollen with my seed?” Her voice hitches, as it always does when he speaks like this to her. “How fucking perfect you look, with your tits so swollen, and your belly straining?”

He moves his hand ever lower, and she whimpers as he hits the sensitive patch of flesh just above her right hip. Long nights on camping trips, where there was no one around for miles, had shown him just how much she loved when he lavished attention on that spot. He swears playing with that tiny pocket of flesh would make her come alone, if he ever deigned to control himself long enough to try. 

“Because you’re perfect,” he hisses, finger catching in the band of her smalls, which are sodden at the juncture of her thighs already. Any other day, he would take his time, but he can hear the quiet clack of heels and shoes in the hallway outside, and a quick glance through the blinds shows him a few early-returners entering the office. She sees his head turn, and her cheeks flood as she realizes she could be seen. 

“Don’t move. Let them see you. Let them see how perfect you are.” His words are almost lost in her thighs as he pulls away her smalls, the ripping noise drawing her attention back to him. A cheeky smirk is all she gets before he dives into her curls, lapping wetly at the gathering moisture, nosing at the little bundle of nerves that is already begging to be touched.

She cries out, legs spasming, and he puts a hand on one ankle to keep her still. The other wraps around his shoulders, the heel of her shoe pressing into his back as she rolls her hips into his mouth, into the tongue that is pressing into her hot, wet heat. 

_Honey_ , he thinks as his tongue laps at her, tracing wet folds with a practiced ease. _Honey, and something sweeter_ , though nothing can be sweeter than the noises she is making, as sweat begins to pool in the small of her back.

Lips move swiftly to her pearl, sucking hard, and then two of his fingers are inside of her before she can even blink, crooking just so, and she all but howls, hand shoved into her mouth to control the noise. Her walls pulse around his fingers, and he smirks without letting up as she gushes over him. There’s a hand on his head, pushing him away, and he’s almost impressed— with her belly so swollen, he’s surprised she can actually reach him. 

“Cullen,” her voice is raw and needy. “Please, _Maker_ , please.”

“Please what, my girl?”

She looks like she may cry at any moment, frustration and desperation clear in her eyes. “Please, I need—," she flushes, still mortified after so many years. His gorgeous, beautiful, noble born bride, who he had seen cut down a man so easily with her words, stammering and stuttering through her own desire. “I need your cock,” she whimpers, voice almost strangled by her need. 

“I live to please, my darling.”

His hands caress her stomach, pressing a kiss to her before reaching up to capture her mouth with his own. She moans, and he knows she can taste herself on his lips. His erection, all but ignored throughout the entire game, becomes harder than he thought possible, and he’s straining at his trousers until he manages to undo the belt, and free his cock from the confines of his own smalls. 

There’s a mess, he knows, in his smalls already, precum smeared across them, and he only hopes there’s no stain on the front of his pants. A few quick strokes, and he catches some moisture from between her thighs (“You’re absolutely dripping for me, aren’t you, darling?” She keens at his words, and if it was possible, he’d say she’d gotten even wetter from his words.) to slick himself before aligning his length with her heat.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, rolling a swollen nipple between his fingers. She looks as though she may scream.

“Fuck me, Cullen. Please, fuck me. I swear to the Maker, I—“ her next words are cut off by a moan as he works his way into her cunt, and _Maker_ , she feels like satin and silk, all slick heat and perfect, pulsing walls. Were he a green boy, he would’ve come right there and then, just the feel of her enough to push him careening towards the edge, but he’s made of sterner stuff after years of life.

He works his way out of her, gives her a moment to lament the loss of the pressure, and then slams into her again, hands on her hips now, pulling her closer to the edge of the desk so he can gain better leverage. She arches into his touch, barely able to stem the moans and groans, and he’s almost certain there’s one or two people who know _exactly_ what is happening in his office right now. 

His thumb moves from her hip to her cunt again, and it only takes a brush against her tight nub before she’s coming again. “Evie, _fuck_ , god, you’re so tight, fuck… You’re so fucking gorgeous, you feel so good, _fuck_.” It’s only a few more strokes before he’s following her, spiraling into the abyss, and his own voice feels like it’s coming from far away.

Seed spills into her, and he groans, pressing his forehead to her bump as his cock softens within her. Hands brush across her thighs, sticky with sweat and her own spend, and he smiles despite the mess. She is gorgeous, perfect, flawless in every way, and she is _his_ , the babe in her belly and ring on her finger proof of that to the world. 

“You owe me a shirt,” she huffs, scooting back as he withdraws from her, reaching failingly for her discarded breast band and giving him a beseeching look. He contemplates refusing it to her, but thinks better of it (he rather likes their shared bed, and with her fluctuating moods, he’d rather not end up on the couch that evening) and reaches down to retrieve it. 

“There’s one in the filing cabinet. I thought having spares might be… advantageous, after you agreed to come and work as my secretary—“

“Personal assistant,” she interjects quickly, and he rolls his eyes.

“ _Secretary_ , during your maternity leave.”

She laughs and struggles off of the desk, grabbing the ruined silk off the floor and using it to tidy herself up as he tucks himself back into his pants, resolving to clean himself in the bathroom as quickly as possible before the meeting. 

“You have a meeting in five minutes,” she reminds, kissing his cheek after he helps her with the skirt. His fingers linger on her belly, and his heart skips a beat as he feels a kick, and then another, and then another. She laughs, fondness flooding her face. “He knows his daddy,” she murmurs, lacing her fingers over his.

“ _She_ knows her mummy is happy,” he counters, eyes twinkling. “I love you, Evelyn.”

“I love you, Cullen."

As she leaves his office a few moments later, his phone buzzes on the floor. A text, from Leliana? He frowns, wondering what could be so important that she couldn't wait until the meeting in a few moments.

His eyes roll and his cheeks flush as he scans the message. "Close your window next time." He laughs, flipping an obscene gesture to the building across the courtyard, and sets off for the meeting. He'll never live this one down, he knows it.


End file.
